Ghosts
The ghosts of my old lovers hide in the way I touch my bottom lip with my thumb
They whisper from dark corners at me to put the toilet seat down
I see flickers in the corner of my eye whenever I change the oil on my car
Or when I drive past exit 18 on the highway
My lovers' ghosts slip into my speech sometime
When I pull a long "ah" across my tongue just to remember how it tastes
When I slip on the word home, like one of them left it tattooed on my spine
What am I if not a cobbled together house of learned habits
And steps taken in carefully mimicked time?
Nailed together quirky ways to say hello and goodbye
The puns we liked to make about eggs draped across the gaps in the shoddy ceiling
Sometimes I remember the instant I looked at the way
She tilted her head and decided to borrow the gesture: to take it inside and make it my own
And sometimes I just know that my love for the smell of the rain
Was an idea someone else had, whispered to me beneath sheets
Of indeterminate color
They taught me how to make pretzels and I copied the swish of their hips
With the detail and attention of a Sofar
And we called it love and for a while
That was enough
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